


Dreams of Light

by Gon (pepperedfox)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 08:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperedfox/pseuds/Gon
Summary: Long ago, monsters and humans lived on the surface. It was said they shared a ceiling that stretched longer than even the deepest tunnels in the Ruins and would change color like a gemstone held to a candle. When night came, you could see millions of flecks sparkling above like a galactic road, brighter than all the crystals and fireflies in Waterfall combined. It was called the “sky.” But when war swept across the land, the humans drove monsters deep underground, and we were forced to give up the shimmering colors and luminous lights for ceilings of darkness and granite....A young monster learns of a mysterious thing called the "sky" from their parents. Several years later, they sneak into Asgore's castle and realize that, perhaps, there was some truth to those old stories.Written for LOVE: An Undertale Zine (@UndertaleZine).





	Dreams of Light

Long ago, monsters and humans lived on the surface. It was said they shared a ceiling that stretched longer than even the deepest tunnels in the Ruins and would change color like a gemstone held to a candle. When night came, you could see millions of flecks sparkling above like a galactic road, brighter than all the crystals and fireflies in Waterfall combined. It was called the “sky.” But when war swept across the land, the humans drove monsters deep underground, and we were forced to give up the shimmering colors and luminous lights for ceilings of darkness and granite.

It’s a tale created by an ancestor of mine – someone so old that there aren’t enough “great-great-greats” I can put to properly show how ancient they were. What’s important is that ancestor told their kids, and those kids grew up and told their kids, until finally my parents told me when I was a young, bright-eyed and bushy-antennaed child.

“But what made the sky shine?” I asked. “And why did it only shine at night?”

“Oh, the sky itself didn’t shine. That was the work of ‘stars.’ Right, honey?” Dad turned to Mom, who nodded.

“Yes, stars.”

“But why night?”

“The surface is different, sport. Thanks to the CORE, our kingdom always has its lights on, day or night. It lets us see where we’re going underground, so we can go about our business. Up there, though, light depends on the sun. When the sun’s up, there’s light. And when it’s down, it’s all dark. That’s when the stars come out: when there’s not a speck of light to be seen.”

It was never dark in Hotland. Even in the shadiest alleyways you could find bright neon and the ruby embers of magma. The closest to dark I could get was by closing my closet door and squeezing my eyes shut. No stars ever came to me in the closet, no matter how hard I tried, and eventually I got bored of the game. But the story never left me. It remained when Dad went away and left nothing else for us. It was the only thing from home I carried with me when Mom moved us to New Home. I couldn’t stop thinking about the sky and its stars, even though I knew it was just a fairy tale.

New Home was nothing like Hotland. All the buildings were carved from stone and smoothed with magic. The city looked as if a painter started a beautiful picture book, but all they had was grey. Sometimes, I got turned around trying to find my way home. I was used to flashing signs and arrows telling me which way to go, not washed-out signposts and cobblestone roads. Folks were friendly enough to help me out whenever I got too lost and even offered me baked goods to take back. I quickly gained tons of cavities, but I never got a sense of direction.

The city was perfect for Mom, who needed time to think. No dumpster raiders to startle her when she took out the trash; no creaks and groans from the labyrinth pipes; no tip-toeing around laser grids accidentally left on. Just a quiet and sturdy city she could admire from our rooftop as she drank her morning tea. Sure, we had to give up our house for an apartment, but space was running out everywhere in the Underground. She was willing to make that sacrifice for a slower pace.

For a teenager like me, though, New Home couldn’t keep me busy enough. I couldn’t play laser hop because of a lack of lasers. There weren’t any junkyards to explore and, worst of all, there wasn’t enough _color_. I grew up with saturated hues, with every shade imaginable laid out before my eyes like a feast. The only color I could sate myself with was when nighttime came, and the electricity was shut off to conserve power. Only then could I see the glowing points in the cavern’s ceiling, arched over New Home like the dome of a great ballroom. I was old enough to know by now that “stars” referred to the crystals embedded in the rock, but I couldn’t help dreaming. Every time I gazed up at the stars, I imagined them multiplying like luminous plankton until they became a river of light. Red, gold, green, violet – all the colors would bloom in my vision and sweep me away to where the “sky” awaited me. And every time they remained the same, sparse, crystalline blue, as they’ve always been for millennia.

I began to cause trouble. Little things, at first, like stealing a few sweets. Then bigger things, like vandalizing the alleyways. I had a lot of time on my twitchy fingers and when I got my hands on some paint, it marked the beginning of my short career of juvenile crime. No wall was safe from my brush. I hung out with other delinquents and we committed ourselves to acts of petty crimes and non-crimes. Tipping over the trash cans of a rude neighbor, graffitiing our teacher’s house, dashing and dining when we were told our favorite desert was out. You name it, we did it. I’m ashamed of this period of my life, but if I hadn’t been a delinquent, I wouldn’t have seen the Barrier.

It was a dare, at first. Whoever could steal something from Asgore’s home could be the leader for the week. To prove we had really been there, we also had to bring back one of the golden flowers from his garden. While my friends swaggered about and bragged of their plans to break in, I quietly left to prepare. I snuck out of my house that night, once I was sure Mom was asleep, and slipped off into the darkness.

All was quiet and still. With the lights turned off, New Home became an entirely new city. Dad used to tell me a story about a poor woodcutter who found a cave of treasure belonging to a group of thieves. I felt like that woodcutter as I stole over the clean-cut paths, past the silent silhouettes of sleeping houses, each jangle of my backpack a noisy cry marking my swift passage. Once or twice I stopped and held my breath, my heart pounding in my ears, waiting to see if anyone had spotted me. But nothing, save for the stars above, watched me scale the hill Asgore’s home sat upon.

I breathed heavily from the climb. The place was less royal than I thought it’d be. Monarchs were supposed to live in majestic, sprawling castles. Asgore’s home wasn’t anything like that. It was a squat, one-story house made of weathered, grey bricks. The front yard wasn’t even gated and there was no sign of any guards. If anything, it looked like _my_ old home, and I didn’t know what to feel about that.

None of the lights were on, but the longer I stood there, the more uneasy I became. The front door was unlocked but squeaked. I had to open it excruciatingly slow, inch by inch. Each squeal was magnified into a scream by my nervous ears. Panicked thoughts raced through my mind. At any moment, the king would wake up. I’ll be caught red-handed, without a defense to give, all because of this stupid, noisy door.

Finally, I opened it enough for me to slip through. Instead of furious footsteps, I was greeted by a sweet, fresh aroma. It took me a minute to recognize it as flowers. I only knew this thanks to a family trip to Waterfall long ago. The echo flower of the marshes was earthy and strong, but it wasn’t anywhere close to this honey-like sweetness.

I looked around. People in New Home didn’t like to decorate their homes. But they loved to bring color inside. Gaudy rugs, vibrant paintings, shiny trinkets. When you stepped into someone’s house, you saw the real them hidden beneath the monochrome walls.

There wasn’t any color in Asgore’s house, except for the golden flowers dotted throughout. Everything was as grey as dust. It looked sad – _felt_ sad, too – and the sight of it all sat uncomfortably in my gut like a bad meal. I knew I couldn’t take anything from here. There was nothing wrong with the place. The floors were clean and the furniture was nice. If I stole anything, though, I’d be reminded of this colorless house and the stillness that clumped around me. I couldn’t stand the thought of it. There had to be somewhere else I could search.

I crept from room to room. They all looked the same to me in the darkness. I could only tell them apart by their smell. Soap and burnt bread perfumed the kitchen, while freshly cut grass filled the bedroom. I began to wonder why a king would live in such a depressing place when I heard it. At first, I thought it was a whisper and froze. My heart beat in my throat. A tense second passed before I listened closer – there it was again! A trill, sweet like rain. It was distant and faint, so I moved towards it. There were a set of stairs leading down, which I rushed down, eager to leave the house.

A long, dark hallway greeted me at the bottom. I followed the song with one hand on the wall, trusting it to lead me somewhere better. At the hall’s end was an archway and, despite it being the dead of the night, light flooded out of it and pooled into a golden puddle before me.

Light meant someone was there. If I was going to steal something, I’d better turn around and head back up. I didn’t. Maybe it was the song. Maybe it was because I’d been starved for color since I moved to New Home. Maybe I was just plain curious. Whatever the reason, I let my heart move my feet. I walked through the archway.

Blinding white. Bit by bit, my eyes adjusted. I couldn’t help but gasp at what I saw.

I stood on the shore of a sea of flowers. Gentle light, soft and soothing, filtered down from the glass panes above. The distant song that lured me here now surrounded me in chorus. It came from the bushes and trees, wrapped me in its soaring highs and wistful lows, making my soul ache. Rising from the center of the garden like an island was a golden throne lined with purple velvet. Someone was sitting in it. He raised his horned head.

“Howdy,” said Asgore Dreemurr, king of the Underground.

I fell over in surprise.

“Oh dear.”

Some delinquent I was! After all the effort I put into breaking in, I ruined everything in a second. But for some reason, it didn’t upset me as much as it should. There I was, buried deep in petals, and all I could think about was how soft the ground beneath me was, and how bright the garden glowed, brighter than anything I’d seen since Mom and Dad separated. I didn’t even flinch when Asgore leaned over me, concern written all over his face.

“There’s no need to cry, young one. I am not upset with you.”

I wanted to tell him I wasn’t crying, that the fall hadn’t hurt at all, that I grew up a long time ago, after I accepted I’d never see the sky. I would have, if my throat hadn’t been so tight. It wasn’t right for the king to treat a would-be thief with such gentleness. I should’ve played my role and run off. Instead, I let him embrace me, his voice the rumble of far-off waves as he murmured, “There, there.”

 

* * *

 

“Would you like some tea? I brew it myself from the golden flowers.”

“Um, yes, Your Highness.”

“Oh, there’s no need for formality. Just Asgore will do.”

A sweet aroma permeated the kitchen. Asgore hummed as he set the kettle. I couldn’t help noticing his fuzzy pink slippers. They didn’t look kingly. If anything, they looked as soft as his floppy ears. He took out two cups from the cupboard – one regular-sized, one gigantic. “Honey?” he asked.

My mouth watered. “Yes, please.”

It was the best tea I ever had. I burnt my tongue on my first sip, but the honey soothed the sting. Warmth seeped throughout my face, drying whatever tears were left. I held the cup close, so I could bury myself in the steam’s fragrance.

“Now, young one.” Asgore sat across from me. “What brought you to my home?”

I couldn’t tell him the truth. But I couldn’t lie, either. “It was a dare.”

“A dare?”

“That’s right. My friends and I… we heard you could see through the Barrier.”

The king didn’t answer. When I looked up, I saw that his eyes were wide. Panicked, I began to babble.

“I’ve always wondered what the surface looked like. You hear all sorts of rumors. I promise I didn’t mean any harm. It’s just, ever since I was little, my parents told me stories—”

“What were the stories about?” Asgore interrupted, voice quiet.

“The stars and the sky.” I hesitated. “Your Hi— I mean, Asgore. What _is_ the sky like? Does it really exist?”

What started as a bluff was now genuine interest. I wanted, no, needed to know.

Asgore smiled. Somehow, it looked tired.

“Yes, young one. It exists. It has been a long, long time since any monster has seen it. Still, I remember it. An expanse as great as the imagination, with all the colors of the world. No matter how far away you traveled from home, you could always look up and take comfort, knowing that you shared the same sky as your fellows. It was a beautiful sight.”

I leaned in, excited. I felt like I was back in my childhood bed, hungry for every detail. “And the stars? I heard there’s too many to count. And people say they’re brighter than any of the Underground’s! Is that true?”

“Golly, that’s a lot of questions. Oh, I know. Would you like to see a star’s light?”

Was this a dream? “Really?”

“Of course. Come with me.”

Beyond the garden was another hallway, dimly lit. Each step we took echoed back at us, and it felt as if ghosts were walking alongside us. I stayed close to Asgore. My mind raced with possibilities. Did the king truly have a star? Did he have the magic to trap a part of the surface? Or was a star something you could carry with you?

We stopped before a grand, purple door. Asgore looked down at me.

“Are you ready, young one?”

I swallowed and nodded.

He opened the door.

No matter where you went in the Underground, you could always see a beginning and an end. If you walked all of Hotland, you’d reach New Home, and if you walked all of New Home, you’d have nowhere else to go but back. Everything down here becomes familiar to you. You grow numb to it by the time you grow up and I, a teenager, was already halfway there.

What I saw breathed wonder back into me. It was if I was floating in the middle of a clear pond, with a million dazzling fireflies reflected on its still surface. I was surrounded by brilliant light that stretched into infinity and I understood, in that instant, how something larger than the Underground could exist.

“This is the Barrier,” Asgore said, his back turned to me. He touched the bright wall and a halo formed around his hand. “It is the magical force that separates our kingdom from the surface. Look closely. When you dream of stars, I want you to remember this room. I want you to remember the light you see now and to know that, one day, we will return it to the sky and emerge free.”

We stood there, silent. I, with my eyes full of light; Asgore, with his head bowed. Eventually, he put a gentle hand on my shoulder. It was time for me to go.

 

* * *

 

I never told anyone else about that night. What Asgore shared was for me alone. No one else in my gang was brave enough to try the dare, and they quickly got bored of grilling me for answers. They moved on to other delinquent games, while I quit to train for the Royal Guard. How could I play with them, now that I know there’s more beyond the Underground? That there are colors yet to be discovered and frontiers beyond my wildest fantasies?

When nighttime comes, I climb to the rooftop with a cup of golden flower tea, to keep myself warm. I look towards Asgore’s home, my SOUL aglow with starlight and hope, and I think of the stories my parents told me. Does Dad still tell them? Did Mom ever believe in them? I can’t know. But what I do know is this: the stories were actually dreams of a long-ago freedom, a memory turned into myth to keep those precious sights alive. The stars are out there, waiting for us. And I can’t wait to return to the surface, hand-in-hand with my parents, to show them the endless colors of the true sky.


End file.
